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Trevor the Spitting Toad

Trevor the Spitting Toad

by Beaker and Katie Bell

Author’s
Notes:
This story is set in May of Year Four. It is not tied into the main plot of Goblet of Fire, but does
rely on certain events and subplots in GOF.

This
is a co-creation of Beaker and “Katie Bell” (a newbie). All of the writing is
Beaker’s. The basic premise, many ideas, and much helpful feedback and
encouragement along the way come from Katie Bell.

Many thanks to Perri Smith,
whose thoughtful comments and careful critique have improved and strengthened
this story, especially Chapter 1.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan
fiction. Nearly all the characters and settings in this story belong to J.K.
Rowling, her publishers and licensees. Those few spells, devices, characters,
and settings that you don’t recognize from Rowling’s books are the authors’
creations.

Prologue: At the Magical Menagerie

“Dad,
hurry! I have to show you this!” The girl tugged at her father’s robes,
dragging him across Diagon Alley.

“What
is it this time? Something more you want me to buy for you?”

“Oh,
but Dad, it’s the best one ever! You’ve got to see it!” She pushed open the
door to the Magical Menagerie and drew her father in behind her. Another girl
stood with her mother at the counter.

“There
you are, dearie!” said the witch behind the counter, as she tucked in the flaps
of a cardboard box with holes in the sides. “Treat it well, now! Don’t go
asking it to spit up anything too big!”

“Happy
birthday, honey,” her mother smiled back as they left the shop together.

“Noooo!”
the girl wailed to her father. “Dad, you were too slow! That girl just got my
toad!” She looked into the glass enclosure labeled Spitting Toads—10
galleons. “And it was the last one left!”

“Oh,
don’t you worry, dearie,” the witch said. “We’ll be getting more in on Tuesday.
Terrifically popular toads are, nowadays. Just a few years back I couldn’t give
away a toad. Out of fashion, they were. I even stopped stocking them for
awhile.”

“What
do you mean?” The girl looked at her quizzically. “Toads are the coolest!
Everyone wants one!”

“Oh,
they didn’t used to, isn’t that right, sir?” She looked at the girl’s father,
who nodded agreement. “It’s all on account of that young Neville Longbottom,”
the witch continued. “He’s the one who started it all! That young man must be
frightfully clever. I tried to get him to work with me when he finished at
Hogwarts last year, but he wouldn’t come. And I would have made him a partner
in the business, too. Well, well. His prospects must have been very good, I
guess there’s no wonder he turned me down.”

“How
did he make the toads spit?” the girl asked.

“Oh,
it’s a bit of a story,” the woman replied. “I guess you were too young to know
of it at the time. Went to the Inquiry at the Ministry with my friend Filomena,
I did. Saw the whole thing…”

Chapter 1: The Inquiry Begins

“Silence!
Silence in this hall, please,” Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, sat at a
tall desk in the center of a windowless room. The square floor was surrounded
by benches rising like bleachers on all four sides. Fudge raised his voice and
gestured for quiet. “This assembly must come to order before the inquiry can
begin!”

A
harried-looking young wizard was walking up and down the stairs between the
seats, trying to impose order on the crowd.“Move toward the center of the rows, please,” he kept repeating. “Don’t
leave any single seats, others are waiting. Move toward the center of the rows,
please.”

“Clam
up, Percy, you’re not a prefect any more,” said a red-haired teenager in one of
the front rows. “Besides, if I budge up any more, I’ll be sitting in George’s
lap!” The boy’s identical twin, seated next to him, nodded. A paper label
announced that this row was “Reserved for Witnesses.” Several Hogwarts students
and teachers sat in this particular row.

“You
two just keep your mouths shut until you’re called to the witness stand!” Percy
Weasley snapped back at his brother Fred. “It’s all due to you that we’re here.
I can’t believe it—the second inquiry in less than three years for the Weasley
family! I may have to change my last name if this keeps up.”

“Weatherby
has a nice ring to it,” George suggested.

Percy
glared at him and moved on. “Move to the center of the rows, please….”

Even
with the empty seats filled, a couple of dozen people were left standing in the
back. The excited conversation gradually subsided as each person settled in for
what promised to be one of the year’s most worthwhile spectacles.

“Right,
then,” Fudge began when the noise had quieted to murmurs. “Thank you all for
coming, especially those who had to travel all the way from Hogwarts without
apparating.” Fudge looked serious. “Normally, an incident of this nature would
not warrant Ministry attention. However, the possible presence of unknown magic
at the school is of particular concern this year because of the Triwizard
Tournament, which still has one task to go. I know it’s difficult to be shut
indoors on such a beautiful May morning, but it’s important that we settle this
matter as soon as possible.” He looked down at a wizard wearing plain navy-blue
robes and hat, who was seated next to him. “Mr. Scribner, are you ready to
record the proceedings?” Scribner wet the nib of a blue True-Transcript Quill,
then placed it upright on the parchment that lay on the desk before him. He
nodded up to Fudge, who turned back to the assembled crowd. “I call to order
this inquiry into the missing Quidditch trophy, and sudden appearance of—”

“It’s
not missing anymore, I know where it is!” A middle-aged wizard in
yellow-and-black striped robes jumped up and pointed across the hall at Fred
and George. “They’ve got it!” He mopped his brow, speaking very quickly and
nervously. “Now boys, I know you’re both big fans, but don’t you think it’s a
bit much to pinch an old man’s trophy? Just give it back and we can call it
even, skip the rest of this inquiry, and get out of here? Hey—it’s a beautiful
day, maybe I could give you a few pointers on your Quidditch game before you go
back to school. Just hand over the trophy, okay?”

“Mr.
Bagman, you are out of order! You will not speak unless you are called on to
testify or are otherwise recognized by the Chair.” Fudge rubbed his head. “All
right, I’ll try again. I call to order this inquiry into the missing Quidditch
trophy and the sudden appearance of other items, including a crystal ball,”
Fudge consulted a piece of parchment, “Cauldron, quill, football tickets
and…no, that can’t be right,” Fudge squinted at the parchment, then leaned over
to show it to Scribner, who just shrugged. Fudge straightened up. “In any case,
this inquiry into the cause of certain items suddenly appearing at Hogwarts
over the past few months is officially called to order. I call Mr. Fred Weasley
and Mr. George Weasley to testify.”

Fred
and George Weasley stood. “Point of order, Minister!” Percy Weasley called out
from the block of seats where Ministry employees were seated.

“Yes,
Mr. Weasley?” Fudge looked irritated at the interruption.

“With
all respect sir, I wish to point out that as the witnesses are underage, their
parents or legal guardians must be present during their testimony.”

George
rolled his eyes. “What, you’re not enough of a mother hen to qualify, Percy?”
he called out. There were titters through the audience as Percy shushed him.

“Very
well. Are Arthur and Molly Weasley present?” Fudge looked around the room. Just
then, a door banged open in a corner of the room. A middle-aged wizard,
slightly out of breath, came in. “Ah, Arthur. We were just looking for you.”

“I’m
here, Cornelius, I’m here.” Arthur Weasley hustled to the center of the room
and approached Fudge’s desk, where he addressed the minister quietly. “Molly
will be along shortly. She’s having a bit of trouble apparating lately—women’s
thing, change of life and all that, you understand, Cornelius? So she’s coming
by Floo Powder, but she couldn’t find the new tin of it that she bought a few
months back. She said I should go on ahead.”

“Ah,
yes,” Fudge nodded sympathetically. “Mrs. Fudge went through all that—hot
flashes, forgetfulness, trouble apparating. It will all sort itself out for her
in a few months, Arthur.” Fudge looked up at the crowd as Arthur Weasley found
his seat. “Right then, one parent is enough to proceed. I call Fred and George
Weasley!”

Fred
and George walked proudly to the center of the room, waving to the audience as
they took seats beside each other in two armless wooden chairs.

“Fred
and George,” Fudge began, “You have been found in possession of—”

“Point
of order, Minister!” It was Percy again. “The witnesses have not yet been sworn
in!”

Fudge
turned slowly to face Percy and gave him an acid look. “Just who is conducting
this inquiry, young man?”

Percy
swallowed hard. “You are, sir.”

“Quite
so,” Fudge looked hard at Percy. “I shall conduct it as I see fit, and I would
appreciate it if there are as few interruptions as necessary, so we can all be
home in time for tea this afternoon!”

“Yes,
sir,” Percy turned a brilliant red and sank down in his seat a few inches.

“Fred
and George,” Fudge began again, “You were found in possession of a trophy
commemorating the Wimbourne Wasp’s 1981 League Championship. The trophy is the
property of Ludovic Bagman, currently head of the Department of Magical Games
and Sports, who reported it missing from his office four days before it was
discovered in Gryffindor Tower by Minerva McGonagall. Can we have the trophy on
the exhibit table, please?” A witch in navy-blue robes went into a side
chamber, retrieved a well-polished, two-foot-tall bronze trophy, and placed it
on a table at the base of Fudge’s lectern. “Thank you, Miss Rollins. Fred and
George, please tell this assembly how you came to be in possession of this
object.”

“Well,
it wasn’t our fault, really,” Fred said.

“No,
it wasn’t,” George nodded his agreement. “It was that toad of Longbottom’s.”

“I
beg your pardon?” Fudge asked.

“Neville
Longbottom’s toad, Trevor,” George’s face wore a serious expression, but the
edges of his mouth were twitching.

“That’s
right,” Fred agreed. “If anyone has a right to complain, it’s Neville. We
didn’t take Bagman’s trophy, but we did kidnap Trevor for a bit, isn’t that
right, George?”

Fudge
rubbed his eyes as if warding off a headache. “All right. And how does
this…toad?…figure into Bagman’s loss of the trophy?”

“He
just spat it up for us, didn’t he, George?”

“That’s
right, he did!”

//

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